


Every Rose

by cameronclaire



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheating, Fade to Black, Flirting, Gardens & Gardening, M/M, Oral Sex, Seduction, Sex for Favors, Soap Opera, rich people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cameronclaire/pseuds/cameronclaire
Summary: Axel's a landscaper with a reputation for going the extra mile to service his clientele. Lately, he's been spending long afternoons with Roxas, his client's bored, blond trophy husband, and they haven't just been arranging flowers. But when Roxas' controlling husband confronts Axel about how he's been spending his time, Axel finds himself increasingly unsure if Isa's onto him orintohim.
Relationships: Axel/Isa (Kingdom Hearts), Axel/Roxas (Kingdom Hearts), Axel/Saïx (Kingdom Hearts), Isa/Lea (Kingdom Hearts), Isa/Roxas (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Every Rose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ceceliatarleton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceceliatarleton/gifts), [shaky_mayhemm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaky_mayhemm/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Grass is Greener](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26900995) by [ceceliatarleton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceceliatarleton/pseuds/ceceliatarleton), [shaky_mayhemm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaky_mayhemm/pseuds/shaky_mayhemm). 



> I've been meaning to post this for ages

Axel crouches low to the ground, a bead of sweat dripping down his nose, and gently takes a thorny stem between his thumb and forefinger. He exhales, nostrils flaring, the taste of salt hitting the top of his lip, and carefully shifts one of the vines of climbing roses, more tightly interweaving it with the closest bar of the black iron trellis. The patterned trellis arch casts intricate shadows across his sun-freckled arms, and he thinks back to the better part of an afternoon last week he had spent with those shadows playing across his body, positioning both it and the trellis to Roxas’ liking. 

He’d stood just about right here then, glancing up at Roxas. Adorable, clever, sassy Roxas, with delicately rendered and neatly labelled sketches of the garden in hand and a pencil between his lips, had been perched in the mouth of a nearby, low-lying window, offering the occasional “A little to the left,” “What if we trimmed down the shrubbery, just there?”, and Axel’s personal favorite, “God, could you _ be _ any sexier?”

This last comment brings to mind a more recent encounter. Roxas’ tongue trying to knot with his, tasting like salt—like the Margarita he’d been sipping was a little on the strong side. He can still feel Roxas’ soft, glossy, dark gold hair between his fingers. Roxas’ hands hot and certain, pawing at denim and then his belt buckle. Roxas below him, kneeling in the grass beside an Andromeda bush blooming with sweet-smelling white bell flowers. Roxas murmuring “God, could you _ be _ any sexier?” yet again with something like actual reverence before he’d unzipped Axel’s jeans, tugged away plaid boxers, and  _ licked— _

“You’re still here, are you?” 

Axel’s entire body tenses and he closes his fist in reflex, clenching the rose vine. A thorn bites through the worn palm of the gardening glove he’d been meaning to replace and gouges the center of his hand. 

The slow, regal drawl coming from somewhere just behind Axel continues, “I was certain you’d be finished by now. You haven’t been slacking off, have you?”

“Fuck,” Axel gasps as the pain kicks in and then he bites his lip, tilting his head to gaze up at Roxas’ husband, standing just a few yards away on the front walk. It appears Isa had been watching him for God knew how long, while Axel fantasized about his lonely, jaded, sexy, blond, trophy husband complimenting his yard work and making him moan. 

Fortunately, this is not the first time Axel has had to work out such excuses on a dime, and he reaches for the most tried and true one, “No, sir. Just trying to make the gardens every inch as lovely as your home and its owners.” 

“Hm…” Isa fidgets with a key ring, and pockets it, the lights of his black Corvette blinking once behind him, as if, Axel feels, in belated warning. 

Isa crosses the last few yards toward him. He’s wearing the kind of suit that Axel’s sister Kairi would know the name of, tailored to make him look like he was born to wear it. He walks with the self-important purpose and dismissive confidence only a lawyer can, his brow raising only slightly, as Axel hisses a strangled “Ah, fuck” again, tugging the thorn out, and clutching his hand to his chest. 

Axel takes a breath to calm himself, and this time not from the sharp pain, which is proving to be a welcome distraction. It’s the entirely new-to-Axel sensation of paranoia that he wants to send packing—paranoia that’s drawing the acidic taste of bile to the back of his throat. 

At least Roxas isn’t out here with him. He’s long gone for the evening at this point, off to “Girl’s Night” with a few neighbors. 

But Isa’s asking him why he’s here so late. Isa suspects something—somebody—held up his progress. If Isa finds him out, Axel could lose this ludicrously lucrative job  _ and _ his entire business _ and _ his reputation  _ and _ his chance to further seduce Roxas. 

_ Okay. _ So, maybe seducing Roxas shouldn’t be on this particular mental list, but it could be his only shot at getting the sweet but dangerous, hot, blond tease out of his every waking thought. 

And, all this aside, Isa, who’s got the body of a cross-fit model and the resting bitch face of a Doberman, might literally murder Axel for touching his bored, stay-at-home boy toy. 

Axel scrambles to think of a more specific excuse for why last-minute touch-ups on the trellis and minor maintenance to the hedge would take him this long, but he’s spared from voicing them, as Isa speaks again.

“I’ve heard talking to plants helps them grow...” 

Isa comes to a halt closer than Axel was expecting him to. Axel could easily reach out and run a hand down his toned thigh and calf. In other circumstances, the silken gloss of the man’s trousers accentuating toned muscle might make him want to... 

“...But I’m not certain  _ that _ kind of language is what the botanist community had in mind.” 

Axel takes a long moment to process this response to his pained swearing, staring up into Isa’s soft blue-green eyes and the light crinkle of the nose just between them. Isa’s thin lips don’t seem as taut as they usually do, curving up just the slightest bit in the corner. Over all, Isa looks almost…  _ Fond? _

He had spoken completely deadpan, but rather than the admonishment Axel had expected—almost hoped for—it had sounded more like…  _ A joke?  _

Had Isa, his latest lover’s jealous, serious, apathetic, workaholic husband, just made a joke? A joke to amuse Axel, his lowly gardener, the one he may or may not have just subtly accused of screwing his husband, or at the very least, wasting his money and time? 

Axel’s going to have to reevaluate Isa’s opinion of him. He’d assumed it was low-grade-dirt poor. But the way Isa’s staring down at him right now… Well, Axel knew the guy was gay, obviously, but with his sights set on Roxas, it hadn’t occurred to him that his other employer might have been taking a look. 

Axel figures there’s only one way to know for sure. He slips on a practiced, easy smirk. “Didn’t hear you walk up, that’s all.” He slowly reaches back and rubs the nape of his neck with the palm that’s not bleeding, giving his arm a nice slow stretch and watching Isa’s eyes follow with...  _ Admiration?  _ Axel’s smirk broadens. “You ‘bout gave me a fucking heart attack.” 

Axel doesn’t usually swear around his classier employers—Xigbar being the main exception—but the slight quirk of Isa’s lip earlier makes Axel think the man might find it charming. And even if Axel has no idea what the hell he’s doing right at this moment, he figures charming can’t hurt. 

“Apologies,” Isa drawls without any sincerity behind it, examining the open knuckles of his black leather gloves. The gesture might have come off as bored, but the slight lift of Isa’s lip proves enough to tug up Axel’s own. 

“I was just…” Isa’s gaze strays only briefly to the saplings, hedges, and artfully arranged flower beds Axel had slaved over, before landing on Axel himself, raking the muscles of his back through his taut white tank, “admiring the view.” 

_ The fuck am I doing?  _ Axel asks himself as he plucks a soft pink rose from the vine he’s working with and offers it up with his signature blinding white smile, giving Isa a better view of the ribbed tank top stretching across his wiry but muscular chest. “You like what you see so far?”

Isa’s smirk turns patronizing as he accepts the rose, but his green eyes catch onto Axel’s with surprising steadiness, confidence. “I wouldn’t mind a closer look.” 

Axel supposes, technically, they could still be talking about the garden, but he’s starting to doubt it. He tells himself a little harmless flirtation with Isa won’t hurt anything. It’s just necessary job security. He’s not trying to hurt Roxas. Roxas doesn’t even have to know. Also, it doesn’t hurt that Isa happens to be turning him on right now with his slow, articulate lawyer voice, his gorgeous, fancy-ass suit, and his incredibly uncharacteristic, mild flirtations. 

So, Axel sits back on his good palm, stretches out his legs in front of him and purrs, “Think that could be arranged.” 

Isa nods, as if they’ve just shaken hands over a business merger, says, “Very good,” and then checks his antique looking gold and brown leather wristwatch. “It is getting late. You’d best pack up your things.”

“Uh…” Axel, sits up straighter. Maybe they  _ were _ just talking about gardening after all. “Alright.” Being ginger with his injured left hand, Axel stands and tucks sheers, twine, spray, and the other tools he’s most recently been using back into the bag he’d used to transport them from his pick-up, occasionally glancing back to Isa, who’s alternating between watching Axel and examining the most recent yard work. Gear collected, Axel shoulders the strap of his bag.

“You didn’t stay late waiting around for me, I hope?” Isa asks as Axel steps up. His overly casual inquiry makes the hairs on the back of Axel’s neck stand up. Is Isa still wondering what took Axel twice as long as necessary, or is he hoping Axel wanted to see him? 

Once again, Axel opens his mouth to bullshit a response, and Isa starts talking again before he can, shrugging his shoulder, “Hm. No matter. I expect you know you’ve done an exceptional job, Mr. Emberson. And I’m glad I caught you.” 

Axel quirks a brow. “Are you?”   


Isa scowls mildly, flutters his hand to indicate Axel follow him back toward the towering expanse of his mansion, and then sets off at a brisk pace. “Roxas told me he forgot to pay you earlier.” 

“Oh.” That had not been at all where Axel thought Isa was going with that. 

Isa spares Axel a backward glance, frowning now, voice softening into something that almost resembles sympathetic, “I do apologize. I can’t imagine what he was so distracted with that he couldn’t manage to do the  _ one _ thing I…” 

Axel’s initial irritation at Isa putting down his husband with an ease that feels like habit gives way to a deeper heat in his chest. Maybe Isa’s tone  _ is  _ sympathetic, and Axel’s heart rate is just picking up because once again Isa is dancing so precariously close to the truth that it feels  _ calculated. _

Isa’s thoughtful gaze feels like ice pressed to Axel’s face and he thinks it would suck to stand in court with him, because those eyes alone make him feel guilty as sin. 

“Well,” Isa corrects, smirk knowing, if brief, as he taps his chin, “perhaps I  _ can _ imagine…” 

_ Fuck. He knows. _

“I don’t know what you mean,” Axel offers, forcing his brows to furrow lightly. 

Isa snorts. “Of course.” He pauses in front of the front door, a broad, darkly elegant wood with an opaque glass window inset with crisscrossing silver. Isa taps at the security keypad and produces his key. “Well, regardless. If you’ll follow me inside, I’ll write you a check for all your, ah, hard work.” Isa’s lips stretch into an actual, full, tight-lipped smile, as he holds the door open for Axel and gestures for him to enter with a sweep of his hand like some sexy Victorian gentleman. 

Axel thinks vaguely of that John Mulaney bit.  _ You ain’t getting me to no secondary location.  _

He thinks vaguely about Roxas straddling his lap on a garden bench, pressing featherlight kisses up his neck like a lovesick teenager, while Axel rubbed his back and whispered “You’re so beautiful” over and over again. 

Axel hesitates in the door frame, lips fumbling for an excuse, eyes catching sight of his clunky black work boots. “Probably shouldn’t, boss.” He smiles, lifts a mud encrusted boot, and crosses his arms. “I’ve been known to wreak havoc on the upholstery.”

Isa’s brows rise suggestively, and his thin smile only widens. “Don’t worry about the dirt, darling. I have people for that.” 

“I, uh…”

Isa frowns when Axel fails to step inside immediately, and sets his hand firmly on the gardener’s tanned bicep. The thorns of the rose tucked under his thumb snag gently at his skin. “Axel.” 

Heat rips through Axel’s veins from the point of contact. Isa has the kind of voice you don’t say no to. 

Axel sets his hand over Isa’s and follows him inside. 

* *

Isa has the study of a Sherlock Holmes villain. Neatly organized bookshelves studded with the occasional curio fill two walls from floor to ceiling. Above his desk hang twin abstract paintings reminiscent of evening thunderstorms, all blotted hues of blacks, blues, and violets, lit with streaks of flashing gold. An astrological globe printed with constellations sits in one corner and a potted fern in another. 

Isa makes his way over to a wide, disgustingly well-organized mahogany desk. The only sign that the space is not sheerly for show that Axel can see is a collection of coffee mugs abandoned beside a powered down MacBook and a single framed photo of a beaming Roxas hugging at a Siberian Husky Axel’s never seen a hair of in real life. 

Axel wishes he hadn’t noticed the photo and steps closer to the large fern to his left, crouching to run his thumb along its discolored fronds. 

“Can’t help yourself, can you?” Isa asks.

Axel glances up with a start, but Isa is no longer looking at him. He’s pulled a leather checkbook from a desk drawer and begun thumbing through it. 

“This little guy could use a bit more sunlight,” Axel glances to the distant window across the room, its blinds pulled down and curtains drawn. “Indirect, don’t need to burn it to a crisp or anything, but… should liven him up a little.”   
  
Isa chuckles, a brief, dry thing, as he picks up a pen and starts to write Axel’s check. “I’ll take that under advisement, Mr. Emberson. Thank you.” 

Axel notices Isa’s set the rose Axel gave him in a half-full water glass beside the coffee mugs, and smiles to himself _ — _ in spite of himself. 

He shuts his eyes, rubbing his thumb between them.  _ What the fuck am I doing? _

“Here you are, darling.”   
  
Axel opens his eyes and drops his hand to see Isa holding the check out. 

_ Darling _ rings in Axel’s ears as he crosses the room to accept it with a slightly bowed head and a gracious, “Thank you, sir.” 

Roxas had asked Axel not to call him ‘sir’ within two sentences. Most clients offer him their names on Day 2. Isa seems to have no intention of ever doing so.    
  
“Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Axel’s not sure if he’s imagining it, but he thinks he’s starting to catch a slight slant to Isa’s words that say he’s teasing. He glances up to see the slight smirk again.

Axel chances another flirtatious smile of his own. “No promises, boss.” He takes the check between two fingers, waves it slightly, teasingly, before turning and straightening it, just to double check Isa spelled ‘Emberson’ right. Axel halts abruptly and rereads the numbers a couple times. 

“Something wrong?” Isa asks, stepping up behind him, hand on his shoulder as he peers at the check as well. 

“This isn’t the amount we agreed on.” 

“No.” 

Axel glances up to Isa, who slides his hand down his shoulder to his bicep and then pulls him toward the black leather futon adjacent to his desk.    
  
“Take a seat, Axel. There’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

Seeing no other alternative, heart rate picking up again, Axel reluctantly sinks down into the expensive smelling cushions. Isa crosses to the double doors of the study and snaps them both shut.

“It’s about my husband.” 

Axel’s boots press harder into polished floorboards, ready to spring up. His cock throbs at the memory of Roxas’ smooth hard abdomen hot under his hands, the beachy smell of Roxas’ hair under his lips and the taste of him like salt and coconut and burning tequila. Roxas’ eyes, wide and blue, alternatively coy and teasing and desperately wanting... Sex with Roxas had been like being pulled gently and firmly underwater and drowning in him. 

_ Isa knows. _

Axel crosses one leg over his knee. “What about him?” 

“It has come to my attention that you have had the misfortune of witnessing a few,” Isa hums, swishes his hand dismissively, “spats between Roxas and I. No marriage is perfect. Some words were said…” Isa tilts his head in implication, frowning, nose crinkling again around his scar.   
  
“Some dishes were broken…” Axel counters, not wisely, but if Isa’s accusing him of something, it doesn’t hurt to accuse back. He’s heard multiple arguments, both hushed and roared, at this point, but what has most stuck with him is the telltale glint of shards of a plate and million pieces of a splintered wine glass scattered across the front hallway. 

All Roxas had said in explanation _ that  _ day was: “Watch your step. I didn’t.” 

Isa freezes, fist clenching and unclenching and then nods, something Axel wants to call hurt in his eyes. It’s strange to hear a perspective outside of Roxas’ reluctant ones:  _ He’s bored with me. He’s done with me. He doesn’t give a shit what I… _

“Yes. Well… We all do things we regret. I assure you, we did not mean anything by them. Some relationships are more passionate than others. It’s our way. At the end of the day, Roxas and I are deeply committed to each other. We rely on each other. The pair of us haven’t always kept to the  _ status quo  _ and there are those who would like nothing more to see us torn down, and we must keep a united front. As far as our family and friends are concerned, we are madly, deeply in love and we cannot afford to put that perception in jeopardy.”

Isa paces forward, closing in, and Axel once again pictures him in court, addressing the jury, telling them what to think and how to think it with a natural authority that offers no space for doubt or disobedience. An openly gay, big shot lawyer with blue fucking hair and a sexy husband with an attitude and a day-drinking problem. Axel realizes not for the first time that Isa has to be better than everyone else, stronger, more cut-throat, more perfect than anyone else just to exist. And it seems like he damn near  _ is. _

“As you are all too aware, rumors in this neighborhood spread rampantly as weeds.” Isa’s eyes catch Axel’s. “I need you to prove as adept at killing them at their source as you have with my lawn’s dandelion population. Naturally, I am willing to compensate you for your discretion, and to recommend you to some of my colleagues who may be interested in a  _ wide variety _ of your  _ services.” _

Axel doesn’t miss the half-dozen implications weaved within these words, but he’s also not entirely sure he wants to correct them. 

“I trust this arrangement is amenable to you.” Isa’s standing above him, at this point, his knees pressed to Axel’s, his arms crossed, discerning. 

Axel has a feeling sex with Isa would be like being slammed back to shore by a cruel wave and then receiving CPR, having his chest _ — _ his whole body _ — _ pounded back to life. For a moment, with Isa tense and poised like he might pounce on him, striking green eyes staring into him,  _ through  _ him, Axel wants to find out. 

“Yeah.” 

Axel’s mind floods with relief that apparently none of this actually has to do with his fling with Roxas. He might actually get away with Roxas  _ and _ whatever the fuck this conversation is. 

“Yes, of course, sir. Your business is your business.” Axel waves a hand as if to wave off his own knowledge of the subject and moves to get up. “Say no more.”

A heavy gloved hand lands on his shoulder, stilling him. 

“I’m afraid it’s not quite so simple as that.” Isa smiles sadly. “You’ve no doubt noticed that Roxas has taken an interest in you.” Isa’s thumb skims along Axel’s skin, below the strap of his tank top.   
  
Axel finds himself nodding as his throat threatens to close itself off entirely. “Yeah, yeah.” He coughs. “He has shown quite an interest in my work. His designs for the gardens are really quite impressive. We’ve been fine tuning some of the details together to make his masterpiece a reality.”

Isa gives a world-weary sigh. “Yes, he thinks so, at any rate. Thank you for humoring him.” Isa’s gloved fingers knead into Axel’s shoulder in a kind of smooth leather massage, tone turning teasing again, “I hope he hasn’t been too much in the way.” 

Axel frowns. Isa speaks as though Roxas is a lovesick puppy nipping at Axel’s heels as he works, instead of the entire reason their garden is going to be the hottest garden in Radiant Garden this season. 

“Really, I’m not. His designs are stunning, insightful, and intricate.” Axel remembers a conversation they had had earlier, momentarily pushing aside the rising suspicion of what this conversation is actually about. “If he were interested in taking on clients, I know plenty of folks who’d be interested in seeing ‘em.” 

Isa rolls his eyes but then meets Axel’s again with a momentary, indulgent smile. “You’re too generous. Roxas doesn’t need the work, I assure you.” Isa’s hand drops down Axel’s shoulder to his bicep, squeezes. “My husband wants for nothing.”

Isa releases Axel’s arm, and Axel’s free hand rises to touch him on the arm in return.

_Yeah,_ Axel’s brain bites back skeptically, _except something to do with himself every fricking day._

“Everybody needs their hobbies…” Axel suggests more mildly. 

Isa scowls. “He has more hobbies than he knows what to do with: painting, ceramics, equestrian training, amateur bartending…” He paces in an impatient circle, ticking off on his fingers, and then turning on his toe to face Axel yet again, “expensive hobbies that he abandons within a matter of months. This is only the latest. I fear he’d only grow bored and leave your clients wanting.” 

Axel may not have known Roxas long but he can tell that his passion for design is more than just a passing fancy, and from what he can tell, the guy had some schooling in the subject as well. Axel forces himself to smile softly. “Well, if he wants. He knows where to find me…” 

_ “That’s _ what I wanted to discuss with you.” Isa lifts his hand again, pats Axel on the cheek so briefly he thinks he might have imagined it. “I wasn’t referring to his interest in your work…I’m afraid you’ve quite charmed him.” He glances to the ceiling for a moment, grin wry. “At least his tastes remain impeccable as ever...” 

Axel decides to play dumb again, since it’s gotten him this far. He spreads his palms open, lifts them in the smallest of shrugs. “I don’t follow…” 

But Isa blatantly scoffs, glancing down his front, tight tank top, tight jeans. “Please. Neither of us is stupid. You’re an attractive, well built, welcoming man, Axel, and  _ Roxas  _ is…” Isa halts, reaching out to grasp Axel’s wrist, and lift it up, “Are you  _ bleeding, _ Mr. Emberson?” 

Axel lets him tug at his arm, ignoring the jolting prick as the fabric of the glove shifts against the clotted cut in his palm. “Oh, not so much any more…”

“Unbelievable.” Isa abruptly drops his wrist and gives him a hard glare that makes Axel suspect the rest of the conversation had been going remarkably well in comparison. “Jesus Christ, Axel. Don’t move.” With this Isa sweeps out of the room. 

Axel stays put, his back sinking into the swanky futon, deliberating over what Isa does or does not know, and does or does not want from him.

In a few minutes, the door opens, and Isa pushes through, a bowl cradled in one arm and white dish towels draped over the other. He’s hovering over Axel again in moments, their knees pressed together, Isa’s palm reaching out. “Give me your hand.”   
  
“It’s nothing. Really.” Axel winces and retracts it, clenching it to his chest. It was just a thorn prick. He’d had a hundred of them. It was strange to see Isa so concerned over it. 

“Your glove is filthy. You’ll get an infection and it’ll be on my head. Give me your hand, you senseless, pretty fool…” 

Axel gingerly removes the glove, hissing as the dried blood pulls off and the tear in his palm starts to bleed again. 

Isa reaches out his hand once more, and Axel hesitantly places his inside it, blood dribbling down the side. 

“I’m terrified I’ll drip on that fancy suit of yours,” Axel admits as Isa dabs his wound with warm water and heat seeps up his arm, pain chased with soothing. “Maybe you oughta take it off.”

Isa bites off a smile that makes Axel groan when he realizes what he’s just said. 

“Do you often find yourself overly concerned with the welfare of other men’s suits?”

“More than I’d like,” Axel mumbles, though Isa doesn’t immediately reply, rinsing dirt and blood from the towel and then cleaning the rest of Axel’s hand, wrist, fingers, before slowly patting them dry.

“You have the hands of someone who’s worked hard to get where he is.” Isa muses, wrapping bandages in an X across his palm to keep a strip of gauze set in place. “Roxas’ hands are soft as snow. He’s pampered, spoiled. He hasn’t known a day’s hard work in his life…”

_ Whose fault is that?  _ Axel wants to reply, but Isa doesn’t notice Axel’s expression momentarily darken. Isa’s being sweet to him, but the way he treats Roxas...

“He needs attention, romance... He needs everything to be about  _ him.” _

Axel thinks again of the way Roxas had beamed and smothered him with kisses while Axel whispered to him how beautiful he was.

Axel decides he doesn’t necessarily  _ like _ Isa, despite his attempts to be pleasant, but with Isa standing between his legs, working a fresh towel up Axel’s neck and across his cheek, muscular arm brushing Axel’s chest, Axel can’t deny that his body wants Isa’s hands all over him, or that he does, in fact, want to see how Isa looks without the suit.

Isa continues gently wiping Axel’s face of sweat and dirt and then sets the bowl aside. 

“Better?” Axel whispers. 

Isa gently cups Axel’s cheek, apparently not oblivious to the heat building in Axel’s chest or the way his pupils have blown out, eclipsing green with something darker.

“What Roxas doesn’t understand,” Isa says slowly, “is that after a hard day’s work, sometimes all I need is a quick, rough, hard, dirty, meaningless fuck.  _ You _ understand, I think.”

Axel grins. “I think so.” Axel reaches with his good hand to grip Isa’s hip and pull him down onto the futon. He’s aiming to get Isa in his lap, but Isa’s stronger than he expected, and pulls Axel’s back to his chest instead, not hesitating to begin tracing kisses up his neck and toward his ear. 

“How rough are we talking?” Axel purrs, reaching back to rub Isa’s thigh.    
  
Isa’s teeth tug at Axel’s ear. “I can show you where to bite Roxas to make him come completely undone.” 

Axel breath catches. He tries to twist his head around but Isa’s hand is secure on the back of his neck. “ _ What?” _   
  
“It’s only a matter of time before he tries to seduce you,” Isa says, and Axel can hear the slant of a smile again. “If he hasn’t already. You ought to be prepared.”

“Isa,” Axel sucks in a quick breath, “we’re just friends. I wouldn’t dream of _ — _ ”

Isa sweeps the strands of Axel’s bun away from his neck and bites the nape, sending a jolt of pain and pleasure straight down his spine. “Hush, Axel.” Isa’s hands drift down Axel’s chest and lower, fitting their bodies more snugly together, and cleanses Axel’s skin with his tongue. 

“God,  _ Isa… _ ” Axel grins and moans, as Isa continues his attentions, rough and direct. All thoughts clear his brain aside from the after image of the last object his eyes landed on before he shut them _ — _ across the room, on the desk, a pink rose, a silver glass, black thorns. “Don’t stop,” he murmurs, hoarsely. “Don’t stop.  _ Don’t stop _ ...” 


End file.
